


almost is good enough

by rhymeswithpi



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, OT4, early game spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/pseuds/rhymeswithpi
Summary: And in the end he's just not good enough, not smart enough or fast enough, but there's time to deal with that later. There's time for everything later.Alternately, how Ignis learned his friends do maybe actually care about him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yodepalma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/gifts), [greyskiesblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/gifts).



He is definitely not thinking about Noct’s hand in his hair or how his face would feel under his fingertips or how desperately he craves any sort of contact with him beyond the occasional slap on the shoulder because  _ come on congratulating him once in awhile just is not enough _ . He is not focusing on how the sun looks filtering through Noct’s hair right now and how happy and peaceful he looks, face turned up into the sunlight, eyes closed, despite being spattered in the blood of various monsters and in desperate need of a bath.

He’s not allowed to think of those things. Noct is betrothed to someone else, and even if the wedding didn’t happen by some gracious act of the Six, it’s not his place to have any sort of desire for the prince beyond his duty. Thinking those sorts of things just gets in the way of being able to do his  _ job _ . 

There’s a time and a place for these feelings and thoughts and that time is  _ not now _ . He forces himself to take a deep breath as he files it all away for later, makes it his future self’s problem. For now it’s fine to just watch them all, it’s fine that he’s not part of it and can’t be part of it. He has to keep his distance. Gladio ruffles Noct’s hair, and Prom’s jumping up on Gladio’s back. He stuffs the pang of longing back into the corner of his mind. 

He’d try to join in but he’s pretty sure Gladio still hasn’t  _ quite _ forgiven him for slamming on the brakes and probably giving Prompto a concussion, but  _ in his defense _ he’d told Prompto to put on a seatbelt hundreds of times by that point and  _ come on who doesn’t wear a seatbelt oh wait apparently all of them, do they all have death wishes he really is starting to consider if it would be easier to just not be alive _ alright so maybe that’s not the best path to go down right now, not when everyone’s staring at him. He huffs and turns to walk back to the car. Later. He can deal with this later.

 

There’s wind in his hair and he can smell the sea. He could just miss this last turn, keep driving, see what’s beyond that tunnel up there. This road trip doesn’t have to end. He could just keep traveling with these morons he calls his friends, instead of giving up whatever this  _ thing _ he has with the prince is when they finally get across the sea to Altissia.

No. No, his duty to the kingdom comes first, and it is his job right now to deliver the prince to his bride-to-be. With a sigh, he makes the turn, and they’re heading for the Quay. Noctis wants to do everything he possibly can before they even  _ think  _ about trying to get on a boat, and he’s thankful for that, at least.

He’s not quite sure when he stopped constantly referring to Noctis as ‘the prince’ in his head, but he’s sure it has something to do with this desire to be close to him. He almost walks off the pier while trying to force his mind to go back to calling Noct by his title. This is proving harder than he thought. Prompto’s making jokes about how scatterbrained he is lately. He has to try harder, be better.

Then they’re being  _ blackmailed _ and frankly how dare this so-called reporter blackmail the crown prince does he have no shred of decency in his entire being? Only Gladio’s hand around his arm keeps him from rearranging the sleazeball’s face the minute Noctis walks away. He can’t remember the last time someone actually  _ touched _ him, and he can feel the weight of Gladio’s hand on his arm for hours after.

The zu doesn’t manage to kill them, which is almost a disappointment. It could’ve at least been decent enough to spare them the indignity of playing fetch for a crooked reporter. They manage to get the hunk of rock and take it back to the dirtbag, and he secures them spots on a ferry that by all rights shouldn’t even be able to leave, what with the Imperial ships blocking everything between the empire and Lucis.

 

To his credit, he did  _ try _ to get Gladio to join him at the bar, but Gladio was far more concerned with other things (including, apparently, the cat sitting on the dock). He didn’t try very hard, though. If he’d pushed it just a little bit he’s sure Gladio would’ve figured out what was going on and they’d be off doing literally anything _ but _ this right now, but as it is, Gladio’s off fishing with Noct and Prompto is doing… something. 

He’s staring into the bottom of an empty glass when he finally admits it to himself for the first time. He may have some wildly inappropriate feelings for Noctis.  _ Some. _ He definitely wants to be close to him and at very least enjoy the same sort of casual touching Prompto and Gladio get away with and  _ maybe kiss him _ no. Admitting to anything more than that may actually make him wish himself out of existence, if he doesn’t blush so hard he bursts into flames first. The bartender sets another glass by his hand, and he smiles before taking a sip. He tries to decide if she’s attractive or not, and she’s certainly pretty, tries to picture kissing her, but he feels nothing for her, not the way he does for Noct. Shit.

Between keeping everyone alive and ignoring his emotions, he’s  _ exhausted _ . But tomorrow? Tomorrow they’re going to Altissia. The prince will get handed off to his bride-to-be, and none of his ill-timed feelings will mean anything. He can go right back to ignoring them, because they won’t be a  _ problem _ once Noct is married. Right?

Maybe he should just count himself lucky that there hasn’t been a repeat of the table-dancing incident (but granted, no one is really  _ there _ to egg him on this time and it is almost a classy bar, not like that seedy dive bar he’d been in with Gladio that time and  _ damnit Ignis you are losing your train of thought here this is not the time _ ). The bartender is nice enough, at least, making idle conversation when he’s not fiddling with his phone and probably making stupid decisions by answering those texts from his mom. His glass is never empty for long.

Prompto tries to drag him away from the bar, says something he can’t focus on long enough to decipher, so he just smiles stupidly and tries to ruffle his hair, instead. He nearly falls off his stool and the bartender is scowling at him. Great. Another person he’s disappointed. He really is the worst at his job, he can’t even keep himself from having  _ weird feelings _ for someone he’s sworn to protect. He lays his head down on the bar and just lets himself  _ feel things _ for a change.

A large hand on his shoulder snaps him out of his little funk, and he can’t make sense of anything Gladio’s saying, either, but he figures it’s probably time for bed. The bar has mostly emptied, the bartender has put away all the glasses, and Gladio just looks  _ pissed. _ He sighs and lets Gladio haul him to his feet, and if he’s crying when Gladio removes his shoes and glasses and shoves him onto their shared bed neither of them says anything about it. The space between them on the mattress feels like miles, and he aches to just roll over and be  _ near _ someone. Later, though. He can deal with it later.

 

He can see it on the front cover of every paper he looks at. Even that shady reporter gave him a look of pity as he was scrounging up something to eat, anything that might take the edge off the hangover since  _ of course _ he’s the one who has to get everyone up on time to get on the damn boat, no matter how rough he’s feeling. He’s pretty sure he’d have to get up and keep doing this even if he’d managed to drink himself into an early grave (and from what Gladio told him it was a near thing). That quest was quickly derailed, at least, and now he’s thankful for it. He plucks his phone out of Prompto’s hands and decides to  _ not _ think about how it ended up there and what Prompto might’ve done with it in the meantime, flicks through a few news websites, finds all the confirmation he needs.

Of  _ course _ he has to be hungover for this. It’s not enough that he’s starting to admit that yes, he has feelings he definitely shouldn’t have and yes, he’s pretty sure he was run over by a truck but the truck probably would be more merciful than what was likely an entire bottle of whisky. He’s thankful the worst of the vomiting has already happened because the twist in his stomach at the repeated headline  **INSOMNIA FALLS** would be enough on its own, but instead his mouth just tastes terrible and his stomach cramps uselessly. He just squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, forcing everything into the little boxes he’s built in his mind. Later. He can deal with it all later. Right now, someone has to tell Noct.

And he can’t even bring himself to read out the headline. Prompto does it while he just stands there, being impossible, his head throbbing and his stomach in knots and  _ why didn’t he at least rinse out his mouth before doing this _ .

 

The king is dead and their kingdom has fallen, there are Imperial troops  _ everywhere _ trying to find them and probably  _ kill them _ , Lady Lunafreya is likely dead, and all he can think is that Prompto was the one who hugged Noct when Cor confirmed everything. He’d just stood there, frozen to the spot, staring out over the Crown City, and meanwhile Prompto had actually  _ hugged the prince _ .

Some horrible traitorous part of his mind keeps repeating that Noct’s betrothed is probably dead, and if she’s dead he can’t get married,  _ that means he might have a chance -- _ and he has to silence it before he starts smiling even though he feels like such a traitor, daring to be happy when the prince - his prince - has just lost  _ everything _ . This is not the right time for that, not when everything is falling apart and he’s still trying to get over the hangover from the night before. Whose brilliant idea was it to get drunk, anyway, thinking that would fix all his problems? Oh. Right. It was  _ his _ idea. Some brilliant tactician he is.

Gladio is staring at him, probably sees right through all of this, the recursive layers of distraction and whatever the actual fuck it is he’s doing to himself by being  _ stupid _ enough to admit that he has feelings for his charge. There’s no time right now, though, and he shakes his head. Gladio goes back to looking after Noctis, doing his job for him, because  _ clearly _ he can’t do it properly to begin with. He should’ve known. He should’ve seen something in the way the king had been acting, the way he actually came down to see them off at the very end. This was never meant to be a simple trip to get Noctis to his betrothed, it was a way to get him out of the city so they didn’t  _ die horribly  _ when this all went down.

He doesn’t know how they got back to the car but clearly they did, he’s in the driver’s seat and everyone’s waiting for him to  _ drive _ already. It’s not far to Hammerhead but the car smells like feet and sweat and whatever else is lurking in the backseat (probably half-eaten sandwiches and a stray cat, knowing Gladio) and he has to pull over before they get very far, spilling out of the car to dry heave at the side of the road. He gives himself a minute to get everything back together before sliding back into the car, ignoring the looks they’re all giving him. He’ll have time for it later.

 

Except later is never going to happen and he knows it, or at least he’s starting to realize it that night when they’re camping. They’re just outside an outpost near the royal tomb and Cor is somewhere nearby, probably keeping a better watch than any of them ever could and killing anything that even thinks about looking at their little campground. Things just keep  _ happening _ and it’s all he can do to keep up with the current moment, much less deal with everything he’s been bottling up for days on end.

Gladio’s too wrapped up worrying about his sister, Noct is busy sulking, and Prompto is just trying to keep everyone smiling and he’s trying  _ so hard _ that he can’t help but indulge the little ray of sunshine, but soon he can’t keep his eyes open much longer and he decides cleaning up after dinner can be  _ someone else’s problem _ for a change, collapses onto his sleeping bag, carefully arranged as far from Noct’s as it can get while still being  _ in the tent _ .

Sleep takes forever to arrive as his mind loops the royal arm piercing through Noct’s chest over and over and over again until he can’t breathe. A gloved hand finds his shoulder, pets his hair, and he’s out before he can figure out who it is.

He wakes up the next morning with Prompto sprawled half on top of him, face buried in the back of his hair, with a headache still pounding in his temples. His mouth is dry and still tastes awful, but he can’t be bothered to move and find something to rinse it out. No one else is showing any sign of being awake yet, so he gives in to what his body wants for a change and tries to go back to sleep. Prompto noses into the back of his neck and he shivers. He wants him to move, he really does, because all of his awkward feelings for Noctis are bad enough without throwing in the conflicting ones for Prompto, but it’s nice, really, just having someone be so  _ close _ to him. 

 

He wakes up again a few hours later, based on the amount of sunlight, and the tent is empty. Everyone’s already packed up their gear and it’s stacked neatly by the flap. He steels himself to go outside, headache flaring in the bright sunlight, but Prompto’s made breakfast (yes, fine, it’s just Cup Noodles but it’s better than  _ nothing _ and he doesn’t have to cook). He picks at the offered food a few times, tries to take a bite and gives up, shoving it aside. Gladio pokes a bit of fun because even Noct was up before he crawled out of the tent. 

They apparently all agreed to take a few days and just  _ rest _ before going after the next of the arms. He gathers Cor wasn’t too happy about it, but what’s the worst that can happen? The people they love and care about get  _ more  _ dead? He laughs at that thought and everyone is staring at him. He realizes he has no idea what the conversation is about again, excuses himself to go get something out of the Regalia.

He’s not even trying to pay attention, nearly walks right into a sabertusk, and it has him pinned on his back thinking that yes, this is a fitting end, killed because he was too distracted by being terrible at his job and being a  _ massive disappointment _ before he even has a chance to summon a weapon. Resigned to his fate, he’s ready to just let it tear out his throat and  _ end this _ when a gunshot fires and it jerks back, sprinting off. Prompto’s leaning over him, offering him a hand up, babbling something to fill the silence. They stand there for an immeasurable amount of time before Prompto finally stops talking and launches himself at him, and he’s being  _ hugged _ and it’s  _ nice. _ His hands freeze at his sides for a minute before finding their way up Prompto’s back, and Prompto isn’t talking, he’s just rubbing quiet circles into his back. He lets his head drop down to Prompto’s shoulder and that’s it, later is happening  _ right now _ , and it’s all spilling out, he’s just crying now and none of it makes any sense.

The crying has dissolved into hiccuping when Gladio pries Prompto away from him and leads them back to the campsite. He’s sandwiched in between them, Gladio’s arm over his shoulders and Prompto’s hand squeezing his so tight he’s worried one of them might blink out of existence if he thinks about letting go.

Gladio insists that they can handle making dinner without him, makes him sit down by the fire. Noct hands him a cup of coffee with a weak smile and he tries to smile back. Prom won’t leave his side, Noct settles in on the other side without hesitation, and they’re cleaning up the few scrapes and minor cuts from his fall with gentle fingers. Gladio’s muttering curses at the camp stove, but dinner is passable and he realizes while he’s eating that it’s the first thing he’s had in two days and that probably wasn’t helping anything. Still, he picks at it and doesn’t manage to eat much, but it’s better than nothing and no one says anything while they clean everything up.

They keep  _ touching _ him and he’s aware he should be self-conscious and discourage it, but all he can think of is how  _ nice _ it feels, how he’s finally part of this little group and they aren’t treating him differently for having needs. Gladio’s reading out loud from his book and Prom and Noct are squabbling over some game on their phones. He smiles into his coffee cup.

It feels almost normal, really. Almost is good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Um so I am terrible at tagging please let me know if there's something I missed, it's 3 AM and my alarms go off for work in thirty minutes (I regret so many things right now).
> 
> A good bit of this comes out of the weird headcanons I've built with greyskiesblack and yodepalma. We run a [trio](https://ignisapproved.tumblr.com/) [of RP](https://gladiocats.tumblr.com/) [blogs](https://promptodiary.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, if you want to check us out. (I'm Iggy.)


End file.
